LOTHAR AND THE HAND PEOPLE: Signals Received! [1986]

By Bruce “Mole” Mowat / FFanzeen, 1986

Introduction by Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2017

Images from the Internet

http://lotharandthehandpeople.com

This interview was originally published in FFanzeen, issue #14, dated 1986. It was conducted by then-radio DJ at CFMU-FM, Bruce “Mole” Mowat.  This was transcribed from an audio tape by Marilyn Saffer. – RBF, 2017

L-R: John Emelin, Rusty Ford, Kim King, Tom Flye (top), Paul Conly

Hello Mole. This is John Emelin, formerly of Lothar and the Hand People, speaking to you at CFMU-FM, at Hamilton, Canada. First, let me apologize to you for taking so long to get back to you, but you know how unreliable these ex-psychedelic musicians can be.

You asked for a musical background, pre-Lothar. I will give you a little background on the whole group. The group went through some early personnel changes. It was basically started by me, John Emelin, and my roommate, Richard Willis, at the University of Denver, in 1965. We had a jug band at the time, and it became increasingly clear to us that the way to get girls and make more money was to play the type of music that groups like the Rolling Stones and the Kinks, who were emerging from England at the time, were playing. We were taking a lot of drugs in those days. Naturally, the usual megalomaniacal mindset that goes with that took possession of us and we decided to start a rock’n’roll band.

So we got a hold of another guitarist by the name of William Wright, and a drummer by the name of Tom Flye who came to the University of Denver from Chicago, where he had been in a rock’n’roll band in high school; and a bass player by the name of Rusty Ford, who also came to D.U. in 1965. He had been a bass player in a rock’n’roll group called the Accidentals when he was in prep school at Choate. So we got that group together and started working around Denver, and let our hair grow and took the usual ‘60s flack for that. We started writing our own material.

Then we had sort of a fateful job in ‘65/’66 New Year’s Eve, a gen-u-ine professional gig at a bar in Aspen. New Year’s Day, the three of us who were still in college called home and dropped the bad news that we were going to be quitting and, at that time, two of the members of the group dropped out and were replaced by our final lead guitarist Kim King, who we had picked up at the Denver Folklore Center. He had had some experience in New York, in rock’n’roll. He was also a folk guitarist; excellent guitarist all the way around. And through an ad in the paper, we got a hold of Paul Conly, our keyboard player.

I got a Theremin. How I got it, I can’t remember. The name Lothar and the Hand People came to my roommate, Richard Willis who, since is long gone and I’m told a holy man high in the Himalayas – where’s he’s high in them or the Himalayas are high, you’ll have to figure out for yourself – had a dream in which the name Lothar and the Hand People appeared, which is where the name came from.

We just sort of naturally applied it to the Theremin, which is, as I imagine some of your listeners know, the earliest of the electronic instruments. It was invented in 1928 by a Dr. Leon Theremin in the Soviet Union. It’s a single oscillator, the type of which synthesizers are made of many, and has an aerial coming off it which creates a field, which in turn is broken by the capacitance stored in your body, so by moving your hand closer to the aerial, or further away from it, you change the pitch, and create the ooOOoo sound that everyone is familiar with from old horror films. Actually, I think the Theremin has dropped out of style and has been replaced by linear-controllers and more accurate types of electronic equipment.

We were very interested in electronic music from the beginning. We moved to New York in ’65. There, at that time, we went up to Corning, New York, to see the guy that built our Theremin, which we had gotten through the mail from a guy named Robert Moog. He was working on designing a synthesizer, which could be used outside of the laboratories that he was selling them to, the music laboratories and universities. So we helped him develop the necessary adaptations to be the first group to use the synthesizer live. And we were also the first group to record rock’n’roll music with a Moog Synthesizer. And in the course of using it in New York, we turned on a lot of musicians, like Jimi Hendrix, who was a friend of ours, Keith Emerson, who used to come to see us at The Scene; people who have since become identified with synthetic music had become introduced to it through Lothar’s influence, which at that time in New York, in ’66 and ‘7 especially, was somewhat powerful.

Well, we played around New York from ’65 to ’70. We played at The Night Owl, right after the Lovin’ Spoonful hosted out of there. Then we played at a variety of light show clubs on the East Coast: The Boston Tea Party in Boston – “Say, this guy’s real bright” – a club in Philly called The Trauma, which was a smaller light show club, and we sort of shuttled back and forth around the East Coast. We did a lot of playing at The Scene in the ‘60s.

As far as an annotated discography, I cannot help you. I can tell you we had an album called Presenting Lothar and the Hand People on Capitol in 1968. And that was rereleased a couple of years ago. There was also one called Space Hymn by Capitol in ’69. And there was a mixture of both of them called Spores, which was a bootleg record released in England in the ‘70s. We had a number of singles which were not on albums, some of which have become collector’s items for reasons that are hard to understand.

During the course of our career, we played a lot in New York. That’s where we signed our first record deal and our first management deal, which was, of course, a bad management deal, which most groups get into the first time out of the box.

Then we ended up spending a lot of time hassling – ahem – working in the studio. Our first producer was a guy named Bob Margouleff, who went on to be the synthesizer programmer for Stevie Wonder on the Talking Book album, and on the Capitol stable. He discovered the Beach Boys, Glen Campbell, and Lou Rawls, and engineered the original Dale Hawkins recording of “Suzie Q,” and so on. He was a great guy to work with, but never really provided the group with a whole lot of direction. Lothar always had a problem creating the same excitement in the studio as we did on the stage. We never really met the right producer to get the performances out of us in the studio that would come across the way we did live. That was a problem with a lot of the psychedelic groups.

Let’s see. You asked other questions here. Why, what, and when did the group spit up? We split up in 1970 because we got out of all our contracts at once: our personal management contract, our booking agent’s contract, and our record deal. And rather than get involved in any more bad deals, we figured we’d all go our separate ways. We are one of the few groups I know of that had the same five members for five years and did not split up with any animosity at all, or at least if there was any, it was certainly well hidden.

As far as what we’re doing nowadays: our drummer, Tom Flye, is an engineer at The Plan, in Sausalito (California). And he also has engineered just about everybody you can think of, and has done a lot of work in recent years with Rick James; Kim King [d. 2016], our guitarist, does road sound for top-notch acts; Rusty Ford, our bass player, produces television commercials; and our keyboardist, Paul Conly, is writing film music; and I’m in the process of writing a novel [Note: I have not been able to find any information about this book, if it was published – RBF, 2017]. Since the group broke up, I went back to the country and built log cabins, and I’ve had a small video production company and imported clothing from South America.

As far as any chance of a reunion, we tried a reunion – three of us did: Paul, Rusty and I tried a reunion about five years ago, but it just didn’t work out. I’m afraid we’re – we’re too old is what I think it is. I’m not sure though. It’s hard to say exactly what it is that would keep us from a reunion. I think probably it’s the prospect of being on the road again. It’s enough to keep anybody who can avoid it from doing it. As far as musical projects, as a matter of fact, I’m in the process of writing some songs now and getting a demo together, and I think I’m gonna be back in there slugging, looking for a record deal within the next 18 months or so.

There is a book called The Acid Trip: A complete guide to Psychedelic Music [1984], which has a fairly good feature on us, written and compiled by Vernon Joynson, published by Babylon Books (England). It’s a pretty interesting book about psychedelic music, I must say, and I know that I am proud to have been associated with the psychedelic movement in any way, shape, or form. And, as a matter of fact, I just got back from Mexico and, while swathing cable television in a bar, there was a feature on the rise of the use of psychedelics in Canada. All I can say is keep up the good work, guys, because you can’t go wrong as far as I’m concerned.

It’s always amusing to me to see books about – there’s a book out about rock’n’roll hardware that discusses the history of electric guitars and so forth and they ascribe the first use of the synthesizer to Keith Emerson, which is extremely amusing to me because I remember the night that he walked into The Scene and had never seen one before, and we had been using it for eight months. But that’s the way it is when you’re ahead of your time, you know. As they used to say in New York, that and 25 cents will get you a ride on the subway [fare’s up to a buck nowadays – RBF, 1986]; [fare’s up to $2.75 nowadays – RBF, 2017].

A couple of things occurred to me that might be of interest to your listeners. We played only one gig in Canada and that was the opening of Expo 67 (in Montreal). We were on the bill with the Blues Project and Tiny Tim, of all people. It was at the Exposition Hall, and it was sort of a party that was given for the people who had worked on Expo 67, which was a very heavy working-class, French-Canadian group, who obviously were not compatible with the type of music that any of us were playing at the time – and it was your basic disaster of a job. I remember we were saved – literally our skins were saved – by the sexy dancing of a young lady by the name of Suzanne Verdal, about whom Leonard Cohen is supposed to have written the song “Suzanne.” Those of you who are better versed in Canadian music lore can probably chuckle up your well-insulated sleeves at my lack of knowledge about who the real “Suzanne” is.

But what I remember about that job was when we got to the border we didn’t have the right working papers and we had to sleep in our car between that small space in the borders overnight, until the promoter got there with the right papers. And when we got to Montreal, there was no place to stay, so we went out and found a place. It turned out to be some sort of mental home which had been emptied out. I don’t know where the patients went, but a swimming pool on the roof that was two feet deep throughout was the dead giveaway. There were also signs on the doors that said things like Physiotherapy and so forth.

Most of our playing was done on the East Coast for that five-year period. We did some work down the Jersey Shore at a place called Spray Beach, New Jersey. We worked there quite a bit. We worked San Francisco twice: once at the Fillmore with the Grateful Dead and the James Cotton Band in 1966.

Working in San Francisco was always difficult because it was real easy to be home-teamed there, although I must say that the Grateful Dead were very gracious to us. When we arrived, there was a note in the dressing room that said, “Come over to our house.” They had that big house in the Haight at that time, and we went over there and spent the night sampling whatever substances there were available in Haight-Ashbury in 1966. We met the lead singer for the great Big Brother, Janis Joplin, who was unknown to New York musicians at that time. We stayed up most of the night drinking wine and doing whatever else with her and the guys from the Grateful Dead.

We also worked a number of jobs in odd little places, like Casper, Wyoming, and on the downside we worked up in the Catskills (New York) at a singles weekend at one of the hotels they have up there. Kutchers’ Country Club, they called it. That was a lot of laughs.

We worked with the Byrds in New York at the Village Gate. It was the first time rock’n’roll had ever been played at the Village Gate. That was interesting. There was a groupie there with a camera chasing after David Crosby by the name of Linda Eastman. Actually, I think she was after Chis Hillman. I have to ask my pal Rusty about which one she was after, but she was certainly working her way up in those days, and as we all know she made it, groupie-wise.

I’ll tell ya, I hope you have some of our records. Play “Machines,” that’s one of my favorites. I really like that. That was written by a guy named Mort Schuman, the guy who wrote the wonderful song “Save the Last Dance for Me.” I’ve always been fond of our version of “Bye Bye Love,” with the Theremin/pedal steel part. I always thought that it was ahead of its time. And “It Comes on Anyhow,” which is the last song on the first album I believe, which is also worth a giggle. Our version of “The Woody Woodpecker Song” certainly stands on its own. Nothing more need be said about that. I hope you have a chance to listen to it. Everyone should hear Lothar’s version at least once.

We released a single called “Midnight Ranger.” In fact, I think “Midnight Ranger” is on the second album. The out of tune high voice on that is the first major recording by a then-new to New York  musician by the name of Johnny Winter, who had been brought into town by the owner of the club, The Scene, at which we were working. He came up and offered his vocal talents on the song, and we thought it was a great idea, and everyone afterwards said, “That’s a pretty good song except who is that high part? That guy can’t sing at all!” That’s the way these things work out. “Midnight Ranger” is the third song on the first side of Space Hymn.

“Today is Only Yesterday’s Tomorrow” is a pretty nasty little song as well, and “Hours Like Backwards,” too. Of course, this album came out shortly after the first moon shot, and we were under the mistaken impression that the men walking around on the moon were going to make a major impression on people all over the planet. And that anyone who had any tie-in with that would be rolling in gravy. As it turned out, nobody really cared, and our tie-in with standing on the moon, which is that song “Space Hymn,” got us absolutely nowhere, which goes to show what you get trying to predict public taste.

I would be very interested to know if any of you ever had the opportunity to see Lothar live. We could reminisce about the old days. You can tell me what you were on and I can tell you how silly you looked about what you thought was dancing.

Anyway, until next time, I really gotta go and pull out a TV dinner. See you all later. Bye.

DVD Review: Janis – Little Girl Blue

Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2016

Images from the Internet

Janis: Little Girl Blue

Written and directed by Amy J. Berg

Disarming Films / Jigsaw Productions /
FilmRise / MVD Visual

103 minutes, 2015 / 2016

www.mvdvisual.com

If you look at the director’s credits, most of Amy Berg’s films are documentaries about children and women who have been abused by the system, especially by those in power in a religious setting. It kind of makes sense why she’d choose this topic because Janis Joplin’s life was also a series of failures on the part of support systems as she reviled in the church of Rock and Roll.

For anyone who grew up listening to her music, the stories of rejection in high school and in the town of Port Arthur, Texas, resonates. That’s part of why the cult of Janis started, because people of her generation and beyond heard and saw in her the pain, which gave voice to their own, possibly for the first time; this is especially true for women.

Now, there have been umpteen books and documentaries about Joplin over the years since her death in 1970, and even Bette Midler’s film, The Rose is somewhat based upon her, but most try to paint her as a victim, be it of her culture, of the time of drug experimentation in San Francisco, of bad management (such as Albert Grossman), of other musicians, of the music lifestyle, record producers, a failed relationship, whatever. Despite “Little Girl Blue” in the name, Berg takes a somewhat different and more even-handed approach, which makes it a better film.

Berg does not shy away from anything, be it Joplin’s bisexuality (though barely), her drive to fame and success, her fragile ego, and her substance ab/use, which makes the film all that more compelling. She paints Janis as a human, not just a myth. Part of the way she does this is by vocalizing some of the letters she wrote over the years to her family in Texas, spoken by Chan Marshall (better known as musician Cat Power), who gets the tone and intonation spot-on, without it being a caricature impression.

Actually Berg makes many good choices throughout. For example, she hits the high points in Janis’s rise, such as Monterey and Woodstock, but also doesn’t dwell on them by looking at some questionable choices, giving some balance to her life and career.

There are many archival images and videos, both as a young’n and throughout her famed career, both onstage and off. I’m a fan of Joplin’s music and talent, but I would be hard pressed to say I was an expert on her. I’ve seen lots of performances, thanks to YouTube and the like, but there were a lot here that I had never seen before, including some interviews both on national and local television (e.g., Dick Cavett) and regional press.

Along with that, there are numerous interviews with those who were there with her, including her family, childhood (and beyond) best friend, members of all of her bands (Big Brother and the Holding Company, the Kozmic Blues Band, Full Tilt Boogie Band), Kris Kristofferson, Country Joe MacDonald, Dick Cavett, Clive Davis, and so forth. But rather than the standard talking heads, she makes the talker seem more intimate with strong close-ups, and by incorporating what they are saying into archival footage rather than just watching them jaw.

There are also some cool extras, so even if you have seen the airing, it may be worth checking out anyway. First one up is titled “Avalon vs. the Fillmore,” at 4 minutes. Bob Weir (of the Grateful Dead), among others, discuss the difference in atmosphere between the two clubs, and how Janis got kicked out of one of them (not telling which). At nearly 1-1/2 minutes, the remaining members of BBHC get together for this film in “Big Brother Acapella,” and do a modified version of “Papa-Om-Mow-Mow.” It’s almost surrealistic (but no pillow).

Especially powerful is the next 5-1/2 minute “Influences,” in which women musicians (Chan Marshall, Pink, Melissa Etheridge and Juliette Lewis) talk about what Janis meant to them, and what it is like to give all and then be alone at the end of the show (Melanie Safka has a great song about this phenomenon called “Leftover Wine,” FYI). For the last extra, the 4-minute “Walk of Fame Ceremony” follows Janis’s brother and sister to Hollywood in 2013 to see Clive Davis uncover her star. As one fan rightfully states, “The Olsen Twins have one and it took them this long for Janis? Shame.”

This documentary has been heaped with praise since its release and airing on PBS’s “American Masters” program. I’m not surprised, as it’s one of the better rock bios I’ve seen in a while. It clearly shows Janis as a flawed human without either excusing her behaviour, or pointing a finger.

DVD Review: The Grateful Dead: Dawn of the Dead

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2012
Images from the Internet

Dawn of the Dead: The Grateful Dead & the Rise of the San Francisco Underground
Executive Producer: Rob Johnstone
Narrated by: Thomas Arnold
Sexy Intellectual
138 minutes, 2012
Chromedreams.co.uk
MVDvisual.com

It is not often that Chrome Dreams (CD) takes on a single American band to be the subject of one of their long and detailed documentaries, but it is hardly surprising that they picked arguably the most iconic rock group of ‘60s, The Grateful Dead. For nearly two-and-a-half hours, the viewer gets not only filled in on their history, including prior to the Dead’s formation, but there are tons of clips of songs, music videos and concert footage throughout their career. As usual, CD spares no expense of royalties to give as complete a picture as is reasonable.

As sources for information, there are some of the standard CD cadre of historians and biographers of the San Fran scene, such as David Gans, Richie Unterberger, Robert Christgau, and especially the CD omnipresent Anthony DeCurtis (not meant as a dis). But as I have said in earlier reviews by the company, they have become so much better at getting some of the people who were actually there, rather than only second-hand knowledge writers. Some include Peter Albin (Big Brother and the Holding Company), Mike Wilhelm (the Charlatans, who were the pre-Grateful Dead band), Kenn Babbs (one of the few remaining original Merry Pranksters, who included Ken Kesey, Tom Wolfe, Neal Cassidy, and the rest of the dosing gang), Rock Scully (the Dead’s Manager, 1965-85), and even GD member Tom “TC” Constanten (keyboardist, 1968-70).

Of course, the story of the Grateful Dead is not just about the Dead, but rather the scene they help initiate in San Francisco (as the title states), which included the likes of Janis Joplin and Big Brother and the Holding Company, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Jefferson Airplane, and even Jimi Hendrix (though he was originally from Seattle, he was considered part of the SF scene). Many of these musicians are represented by clips, such as Hendrix’s “Wild Thing” at the infamous Monterey Pop Festival, and Quicksilver’s “All I Ever Wanted to Do (Was Love You),” but this is mostly about the Dead.

There is a wealth of material in the world about the Grateful Dead (GD), one of the most recorded and analyzed bands in the history of modern music (possibly matching even Dylan or the Beatles). This leaves lots of juicy material for CD to choose from, and they pick quite a number of sources, which, of course, is great. Sure, no clip is more than, say, a minute in length (kind of ironic considering the GD are known for songs that could literally go on for hours), but considering the sheer amount they cover, and that they choose a lot of rare live clips, makes this a getter, whether you’re a fan of the band or of the scene (I’m more of the latter).

Along with the music, films and historical narration, there are also bits of interviews from over the years. For example, Jerry Garcia discussed dancing and acid in 1993, one from Phil Lesh that same year describing major labels as “robber barons,” and Bob Weir in 2009 describes how he is just interested in music, not politics.

Whether one is a fan of the band or not is kind of irrelevant, because they were at some many of the important touchstones of the era, including the Acid Tests, the Trips Festival, Bill Graham’s concert reign (they show my fave clip of Graham, which is a fight between him and the Charlatan’s Mike Wilhelm, who describes the incident in the present on this DVD), Haight-Ashbury, the Monterey Pop Festival, and so on. Their presence was key to what we know as the pharmaceutically induced Love Generation.

Again, I would love to see more women interviewed on these histories, perhaps people on the scene, groupies or ex-wives? There is also very little about the many deaths surrounding the band, such as Ron “Pigpen” McKernan and Keith Godcheux. As this delves into the pre-GD period, what is also missing, in my opinion, is about the post-GD. For example, there is Garcia’s teaming with bluegrass musician David Grisman. Then again, perhaps I’m asking for too much considering how much history this actually does cover well.

The bonus is called “Ken Babbs and Walker T. Ryan: Fell in the Crack,” in which Babbs (on trombone) and Ryan (guitar) do a talking blues about Ken Kesey. Interesting and a bit bizarre, yet still fun.



Bonus Video:

DVD Reviews: Final 24: Janis Joplin and Keith Moon

Text and live photos © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen
Film images from the Internet

Janis Joplin: Her Final Hours
Season 2, Episode 4
Directed by Paul Kilback
Cineflix International, 2007
60 minutes, USD $14.95
MVDvisual.com

Keith Moon: His Final Hours
Season 2, Episode 5
Directed by Peter St. Laurent
Cineflix International, 2007
60 minutes, USD $14.95
MVDvisual.com

I had never heard of the Canadian television series (a joint Ontario / Quebec venture) Final 24: A Dramatization, but I want to see the whole series now. It’s a hoot.

Actually, this is a fine mixture of first person interviews, actual footage and photos of the artist, and actors dramatizing the last day in b-roll format (silent under the narration). Through it all is British narrator Danny Wallace (though IMDB states it as Dave McRae) leads us on the journey in flat tones that sound like Neil Innes doing a roving news reporter. The dialog he reads is somber and unintentionally cringe-worthy, with lines like “Little did Janis know that she had just bought the drugs that would kill her in only so-and-so hours.”

But that is part of the charm of this two-season series (here is the list of the people covered: www.imdb.com/title/tt1020621/episodes). Yes, I realize I’m using humorous terms about the tragic death of humans, but really, after all the media attention over the past 30-plus years, their lives have become more iconic than real; whether this is a good thing or bad, it’s up to the individual to decide.

The last-day vignettes are performed mostly as silent plays (in rare occasion a word or two will break through, such as Keith Moon’s lover screaming “No!” when she discovers him). The actors playing the main roles are interesting choices. Sara Hennessey is an Ontario-based actress and comedian, who plays Janis slinking along in a stupor, mostly, and actually shows some of her own personality, as well as Janis’s. A little lithe and perhaps too pretty for being Janis, she still does an excellent job embodying her, as well as can be done as essentially a mime.

Keith Moon is portrayed by Michael Rode, who is actually miscast. Nothing against the fine acting job he does, but unlike Sara, he looks nothing like Moon: he’s too tall, too thin (remember, this is the last day, so it was Moon at his most bloated, as the film clips and stills attest), and looks too young (even in the narration, it’s posited that all the substance abuse had made him look older than his years).

So that is the entertaining part of the show, but lets get to some meat here: what really makes the program is not necessarily the last 24 hours, which is nicely dissected in increments of events with a digital clock showing how much time the subject has left to live (which is constantly reminded to us by the narration), but the overview of the person’s life. Each of these have present day (relatively) interviews with people who were prominent in the person’s life. For example, in the Janis Joplin episode, some of the musicians that backed her up over the years remember her, including from Big Brother and the Holding Company, the Kozmic Blues Band, and the Full Tilt Boogie Band. There’s also road managers and other acquaintances, including a gushing high school classmate and a somewhat bitter take from her brother Michael. There is no commentary by her sister Laura, though, who wrote a book about Janis.

For the Keith Moon episode, I found the interviews even more interesting (if possible), from Moon’s live-in lover, the stunning Annette Walter-Lax, who discovered his body, and his daughter, Amanda Moon, who comes across as sad and somewhat angry that she didn’t really get to know her dad. Ironically, there is also an interview with Faces’ drummer (and Moon’s good friend) Kenny Jones, who would go on to replace Moon in the Who (though he could never live up to Moon’s standard – but then again, could anyone?). Walter-Lax easily comes across as the most sympathetic, even to this day.

There is also a level of salaciousness that goes through the tone of the pieces, added to by the creepy writing and narration. “In just 10 hours, s/he will be dead,” we are reminded often. There is a large focus on the negatives for the protagonists, whether it’s Janis’s drug intake (though trying to clean up and pointedly failing), easy manner with both men and women, mistreatment back in Ft. Arthur – including her ill-fated attempt to return a star – and her unhappiness with her first two bands. Oh, and then there is the quickie engagement and fight with her boyfriend the night of…well, you know.

With Moon, it’s excess of escapade, the accidental running over and killing of his friend / driver Neil Boland (and the depression that followed), the constant threat of being kicked out of the Who, and the large volume of drink and pharmaceuticals he ingested (though trying to clean up and pointedly failing). The DVD covers state, “These are psychological detective stories attempting to uncover the mystery of why the celebrity died.”

This is the video equivalent of a celebrity magazine, where all the faults are highlighted in yellow, and yet one can’t take their eyes away. I want what I say here to be taken the tongue-in-cheek way I mean it: the Final 24 series is like fast food, but like that fine eating, it is addicting, enjoyable, and you just want more. I’m hoping to get to see the whole series at some point.

Bonus videos: